Denver Restaurants

Old Blinking Light flickers when it needs to turn it up

By Tucker Shaw

Denver Post Dining Critic

Posted:
08/05/2009 01:00:00 AM MDT

Updated:
10/14/2009 12:42:42 PM MDT

The Old Blinking Light in Highlands Ranch was a good concept long before it opened its doors: A stylish, lively, New Mexican-inspired restaurant, designed to the hilt, serving sophisticated dishes and quirky cocktails to a hungry Highlands Ranch crowd primed for well-prepared, dressed-up comfort food with a hit of spice.

The restaurant, a sibling of the Taos restaurant of the same name (and part of the TRG restaurant group), was well primed for success. Highlands Ranch is nowhere near full restaurant saturation (there is room for another dozen mid- to high-end independent eateries there), and Southwestern flavors will always be popular with this crowd.

And yet, even with every conceivable duck in a row (even the delicious duck tacos), Old Blinking Light, a few years into its life just south of C-470, struggles to make its point. The kitchen is uneven — every flash of brilliance is dulled by a wave of sloppiness. And the front of the house is underengaged — hitting its marks, barely, with lackluster form.

Take the green chile posole stew as a microcosm of the Old Blinking Light experience. What could have been a refined, elevated exploration of this ubiquitous, beloved dish was instead, over three visits, uninteresting and bland, and nowhere near interesting.

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Yes, it's served in massive portions (along with a crispy round of so-called fry bread as big as your head) so you won't feel shortchanged in quantity, but what was missing were complexity, personality and verve, and in a region awash with the stuff, it fell short. Spiciness, especially in a kitchen with this kind of outlook, is meant to dance through a dish seductively, not clobber after the first bite; at OBL, it clobbered.

Same goes for the quesadilla. This blank-canvas dish could be unique, an opportunity for an experiment in sauce and flavor and whimsy. Instead, the cheesy, underseasoned result was clunky and dull. Likewise the enchiladas; even with a fried-egg topper, the plate was a pile of mush.

There are other dishes, of course, and some of them are very good. The green-chile cheeseburger for one, with exquisitely soft meat and piquant peppers, plus a stuffed jalapeño popper for a jolt of pizazz (duck-fat fries, however, are as often soggy as they are crisp, an occasional victim of quality-control lapses). And if you're hungry, the tres rellenos dish (three chiles — Anaheim, poblano and Fresno — each with a different stuffing) can be fun to work through.

Also delivering: the tender, meaty, stand-up cowboy steak, one of the most beautiful cuts of meat on offer in the city, carefully selected and expertly cooked.

OBL's offerings are, to a dish, complex constructions, and it is perhaps because of their intricacy that they frequently falter. When too many flavors congregate on a plate, it clouds rather than strengthens the message, and what could be an eloquent expression of a simple flavor gets lost.

Know this: You can have a perfectly fine meal at Old Blinking Light. You might even find a dish that's worth returning for. And the attractive crowd that flocks to the place on weekend nights certainly provides its own draw.

But in the balance, Old Blinking Light feels as if it's plateaued at too low a level. The place, brimming with potential, hit the cruise control button too soon.

Here is my wish: That chef Joseph Wrede would bring to bear his considerable talents (passionate cooking, stubbornness on quality ingredients, an uncommon ability to balance wow-factor with ah-factor) and, in concert with a rejuvinated front-of-house team, dig deep and inject OBL with a significant jolt of energy and refreshed senses of purpose and direction.